But for the moment, it looked as if the creatures had retreated from the Bazaar of the Southern Road and to other quarters of the city, perhaps daunted by the organized resistance here, or perhaps in simple fear of the valikon in Kylon’s hand. Fear of that weapon had kept the Red Huntress from confronting Kylon openly, and perhaps the other nagataaru held the same fear.
A flicker of hope went through him and died almost at once. Hundreds of the creatures circled over the city already, and hundreds more nagataaru descended from the colossal black cloud overhead. Every single one of the creatures was faster and deadlier than any Kaltari warrior or Istarish soldier, and if the creatures organized themselves and started attacking systematically, the rebel army would be slaughtered in short order.
Kylon scowled and ran to join the others gathered around Sulaman and Tanzir. Maybe they had already been defeated. Maybe Caina was dead on Pyramid Isle, and the Emissary had been wrong about everything. But if they were defeated, Kylon would try to kill Callatas and the Red Huntress before he was killed himself.
“We will go on foot,” said Sulaman. “The horses are too frightened of the winged devils. We will make for the Tower Quarter, then the Old Quarter, and finally the Emirs’ Quarter, where we will assault the Golden Palace. That is the source of the spell, and if we find and kill Callatas, we will stop this madness.”
His tone was firm, his face unyielding, but Kylon sensed the growing despair in the Prince’s emotional aura. Sulaman, too, had recognized the truth, had recognized that Callatas had prevailed in his mad plans.
“I will have the nomads carry word to the engineers at the Hellfire engines,” said Tanzir. “If we bombard the Golden Palace with enough Hellfire, perhaps we can destroy it and disrupt Callatas’s working.”
“Agreed,” said Sulaman, drawing his scimitar. “Mazyan, stay with Lord Kylon. Together the two of you are formidable fighters, and…Mazyan?”
The sudden surprise in Sulaman’s tone and emotional sense caught Kylon’s attention, and he felt that surprise spreading through the auras of the nearby men. He turned and saw Mazyan standing at the Prince’s side, but Mazyan was staring to the east, and his expression was almost comical with astonishment.
Kylon followed his gaze and saw the storm coming from the east, and his own surprise matched Mazyan’s.
Even after half a lifetime spent aboard the ships of the Kyracian fleet, he had never seen a storm like this.
###
Damla realized that it was the end of the world.
The day of the golden dead had been terrifying, but it had ended quickly. The Alchemists of the College had rallied to the defense of the city, holding back the golden dead, and then when the great spell had ended it had all been over.
It had been nothing like this, and the golden dead had not been as terrifying as the winged nightmares circling over the city, purple fire burning in their eyes as they killed, the screams rising from the alleys around the Bazaar.
By the Living Flame, had the winged creatures reached the Cyrican Quarter? Her sons were there, and though they were safe behind locked doors, she knew doors and barred windows would not be enough to stop the winged devils.
It had all been for nothing, hadn’t it? They had opened the gates to the Prince’s army, but it had been too late. Damla wished she had never left the House of Agabyzus. At least then she could have died alongside her sons. Though Damla was not sure which was worse, to see her sons die in front of her, or to die in the Bazaar or the streets without ever seeing them again.
“By the gods,” muttered Tomazain.
His stunned voice cut through her grief, and Damla blinked and looked up, wiping the tears from her eyes. Around the Bazaar, murmurs of astonishment and shock were rising. Even the winged creatures overhead seemed to pause with trepidation, and the vast writhing cloud of nagataaru rippled as if alarmed.
To the east, a storm was coming.
That in itself was unusual. It never rained in Istarinmul. Sometimes the sky was overcast, but it never rained. Despite that, storms sometimes passed on the Cyrican Sea or the Alqaarin Sea, so Damla knew what a storm looked like, albeit from a distance.
But she doubted anyone in the world had ever seen a storm like this.
The titanic gray clouds seemed to fill the eastern sky from the horizon to the horizon, and rose higher than the limits of the heavens themselves. Countless lightning bolts leaped from cloud to cloud, and Damla saw thousands of points of fire burning within the storm. As it hurtled closer, she realized it wasn’t a storm at all, but horsemen and chariots fashioned of mist and cloud, with eyes of smokeless flame and swords and spears of lightning.
It was an army charging towards the nagataaru, and both the winged creatures and the writhing spirits reacted, turning towards the storm howling off the Alqaarin Sea. The wind tugged at Damla’s dress and headscarf, moaning through the alleys as the vast storm drew nearer.
It was the most astonishing thing she had ever seen, and in its midst was something so strange she could not quite believe it.
“Is that,” Damla heard herself say, “is that a ship?”
Chapter 20: Destiny Thread
Callatas gazed at the sky, smiling as his robes rippled in the wind.
He had done it.
At long last, he had done it. The Apotheosis had come, and the rebels did not matter. The fall of the city did not matter. The war between the Empire and the Umbarian Order and the Order’s attempted destruction of Istarinmul did not matter. The long opposition and plots of his enemies no longer mattered. Kingdoms and empires and nations were no long of any importance. The new humanity had risen in splendor, immortal and invincible and perfect, and would sweep aside the old humanity. The road that had led him from Pyramid Isle to the destruction of Iramis in fire and the Tomb of Kharnaces had ended at last, and it had ended in utter triumph.
The Padishah kept moaning, his bloodshot eyes wide as he gazed at the massive torrent of shadow rising from the enormous Mirror of Worlds. Already Callatas saw dozens of the new mankind circling overhead, black wings propelling them through the air, and heard screams rising from the other wings of the Golden Palace as the new humans started to purge the world of the old.
Callatas let out a contented sigh as the shadow of Kotuluk Iblis stirred within him. At last! After a century and a half of labor, the rotten edifice of civilization could be swept aside, and the new mankind would arise in its place…
Hooves drummed against the flagstones of the Court of Justice, and Callatas looked away from the sky as a group of horsemen approached. Grand Wazir Erghulan Amirasku rode at their head, his face aghast as he looked at the unfolding Apotheosis. The nobles around him looked even more terrified.
Callatas smiled. The leaders of the old order did not seem terribly impressed by the new order.
Kalgri strolled after them. Her face and form remained unchanged, but Callatas sensed the greater power within her, and sometimes her blue eyes flashed with purple fire and shadow. He had half-expected the Voice to overwhelm her, transforming her into a kadrataagu, but it seemed the vicious old murderess was strong enough to resist even a lord of the nagataaru. It wasn’t surprising, really. If he couldn’t dominate her, why could the Voice?
And he had a use for her.
The new humanity had arisen…but he still had to cleanse the world of the old humanity.
“Grand Wazir,” said Callatas. “Is there a problem?”
He took a few steps forward, the Staff of Iramis clicking against the ground with his stride.
“What madness is this?” said Erghulan, his eyes wild, a muscle twitching in his cheek.
“It is not madness, but the Apotheosis,” said Callatas, enjoying the horror on the other man’s face. Erghulan Amirasku represented everything that was wrong about civilization, a manifestation of corruption that it created in mankind. “It is what we have been working towards all these years. A new mankind, invincible and immortal.”
“Well, direct your
‘new mankind’ to attack the rebels!” said Erghulan. “The rebels are within the walls…”
“Yes, I know,” said Callatas.
“They are within the walls!” said Erghulan again. “Our men have broken and are fleeing for their lives. Have your flying monsters attack the rebels! Right now they are attacking people at random. That does us no good!”
“Fear not, Grand Wazir,” said Callatas. “The rebel army shall be exterminated to the last man, like the cockroaches that they are.”
Erghulan gave a hesitant nod. “Good.”
“Though at the same time,” said Callatas, “they shall also slaughter every last man, woman, and child within the walls of Istarinmul…”
“Have you lost your mind?” said Erghulan, but Callatas kept talking.
“And once the city has been cleansed of the corrupt and debased old humanity,” continued Callatas, “they will spread across the rest of the realm of Istarinmul, killing and killing. In a few years, they will conquer the rest of the world. I created them male and female, so they shall reproduce themselves, and the new humanity will create a new world, one rid of the corrupt and decadent trappings of civilization.”
“What madness is this?” said Erghulan, drawing his scimitar. “What are you talking about?”
Callatas sighed. “Have you not been listening to a word I have said for the last six years?”
“You said you would make us immortal!” said Erghulan. “You said we would rule over Istarinmul forever! You said…”
Callatas decided that he did not care. He had felt compelled to justify himself to Caina and Annarah upon Pyramid Isle, but they were dead now, torn apart by the Harbinger’s nagataaru. The need to explain himself to them had been a weakness on Callatas’s part, one that had almost cost him everything.
He had no need to explain himself to anyone ever again. And even if he did, he certainly would not explain himself to a venal, grasping fool like Erghulan Amirasku. The Grand Wazir had been a useful tool when Callatas had needed to gather the resources necessary to build his laboratories and manufacture the wraithblood, but he no longer had any need of Erghulan.
Kalgri discarded anything she no longer needed. Perhaps he ought to emulate that philosophy from time to time.
“Kalgri,” said Callatas. “Indulge yourself.”
###
The Voice hissed and muttered in peevish annoyance inside Kalgri’s skull, but she knew just what would soothe the nagataaru lord.
It was the same thing she wanted, after all.
Kalgri stepped forward, the Voice’s strength and power filling her, and the sword of the nagataaru sprang into existence in her fingers. Before the Grand Wazir and his attendants could react, she attacked, killing one of the nobles with a slash of the sword. The Voice gorged itself upon his released life, moaning with ecstasy, and some of that power surged into Kalgri.
She put it to use, killing another emir before the rest of the nobles had drawn their swords. Erghulan was the first to reach her, shouting as he raised his scimitar, and Kalgri flicked the sword of the nagataaru across his wrists, severing both of the tendons. He screamed in pain, and Kalgri danced to the side, hamstrung him, and killed his horse. The steed collapsed to the ground, knocking the crippled Grand Wazir from his saddle.
Kalgri would deal with him later.
The remaining nobles tried to kill her, and she danced around their blows with ease, cutting them down one by one. At last the survivors panicked and tried to flee, and Kalgri pursued them, running faster than their horses and killing the emirs in their saddles, letting the terrified beasts flee into the Golden Palace, their steel-shod hooves ringing against the marble paving stones. Gleeful exultation surged through Kalgri. Killing them had been so easy, so marvelously and wonderfully easy.
She strode back to where the Grand Wazir lay, moaning in pain as he tried to crawl away.
“Wait,” croaked Erghulan as Kalgri stepped over him. “Wait. Don’t…don’t! I am the Grand Wazir. I am the Grand Wazir! I command you to stop! I command you to…”
His commands dissolved into desperate screams as Kalgri started slicing bits off him. She took her time, feasting upon his agony and torment as he shrieked, the Voice moaning as it fed upon his pain. When she had at last pushed him beyond what his body could endure, and his heart had given out, she straightened up, stepped around the pool of blood gathering around the remnants of Erghulan Amirasku, and gazed at Callatas. The Grand Master stood at the edge of the golden circles, the plume of shadow rising up behind him like a gigantic mountain, faint contempt upon his face as he gazed at her.
“Oh, come now, father,” said Kalgri. “You’ve hated him for years, and wanted to kill him for almost as long. You can’t blame a girl for enjoying herself.”
To her mild surprise, he smiled. “Perhaps not. The new humanity has come, but we have a great deal of work before us to rid the world of the old humanity. I imagine the Empire and Anshan and the Umbarian Order shall attempt organized resistance against us, but the new humanity will sweep them aside.”
“With a little help from us,” said Kalgri, wild glee bubbling through her. An entire world to be killed, and all the people within it.
“Of course,” said Callatas. “Let us start with Kutal Sulaman Tarshahzon and that sneaking rat Nasser Glasshand.” He looked at the weeping Padishah and smiled. “There is no longer any need to keep Prince Kutal alive. Glasshand has given me a great deal of trouble. He escaped you once, as I recall. It is time to repay them for our trouble. We…”
The Voice’s scream of alarm was so sudden that Kalgri stumbled.
She looked around, seeking for foes, but she, Callatas, and the Padishah were the only living things in the Court of Justice. Even the Immortals had fled once she had started butchering the Grand Wazir and his men. She sensed some of the palace slaves nearby, but they were hiding, no doubt hoping to avoid the notice of the new humanity.
So what had alarmed the Voice?
Kalgri looked up, past the vast plume of shadow, and saw the storm approaching from the east.
And the Voice screamed with hate at the sight of its ancient enemies.
###
Callatas kept talking, not really caring if Kalgri listened or not. She liked to kill. That was the important part. Now that the Apotheosis was underway, Callatas had a great many minor annoyances he would like to kill. The old humanity would have to be purged anyway, and there was no reason he could not derive a great deal of satisfaction from the…
THEY DARE TO OPPOSE ME.
The voice of Kotuluk Iblis howled through his skull like a winter wind.
Callatas blinked and saw that Kalgri was not looking at him, that she was staring at the eastern sky beyond the domes and spires of the Golden Palace.
A storm was coming from that direction.
No, not a storm.
It was a vast, colossal wall of cloud and lightning and smokeless flame, composed of thousands of djinn of the Court of the Azure Sovereign, riding to battle against their ancient enemies the nagataaru.
And with a bolt of fury Callatas realized that the Apotheosis was not as irreversible as he had thought, not yet.
“They dare,” said Callatas. “They dare! They cannot oppose me!”
Kalgri looked at him. “What are you talking about?”
“When I burned Iramis, the spell had a twofold purpose,” spat Callatas. “It destroyed Iramis, yes, but it also bound the chief nobles of the Court of the Azure Sovereign to the moment of those deaths, sealing them within prisons…”
“Ah. Hence those crystalline pillars,” said Kalgri.
“Precisely,” said Callatas. “They cannot prevail. The nagataaru are stronger, the Azure Sovereign still slumbers in his hibernation, and their chief nobles are bound within the Desert of Candles. They cannot prevail against the nagataaru.”
THEY CHALLENGE ME NONETHELESS. THE KNIGHT OF WIND AND AIR HAS ROUSED THEM AGAINST ME.
“Samnirdamnus?” said Callatas
. “Impossible. I bound him to my service. He could not have defied me.”
YOU DID NOT BIND HIM AS COMPETENTLY AS YOU THOUGHT.
Callatas started to snarl a response but pushed it aside. Even with the Apotheosis underway, he did not wish to start a conflict with the sovereign of the nagataaru.
For that matter, Kotuluk Iblis was correct.
“It does not matter,” said Callatas. “The djinn are weak and the nagataaru are strong. They cannot overcome us.”
THE CONTEST WILL NOT BE DECIDED BETWEEN THE KINGDOMS OF SPIRITS BUT UPON THE MORTAL WORLD. BEHOLD.
Callatas felt his attention drawn to a spot within the storm, and then he blinked in surprise.
The djinn carried a ship in their midst.
It looked like a typical Alqaarin corsair vessel, sleek and deadly, though it looked rather less deadly when born aloft in the midst of the unnatural storm. Callatas had no idea why the djinn of the Court would carry a wretched little pirate ship with them when they came to wage war against the nagataaru, but…
Kalgri sucked in a startled breath, and purple fire blazed in her eyes.
“What?” said Callatas. “You recognize the ship?”
“That’s her ship,” said Kalgri.
A fresh thread of anger went through Callatas.
“Her ship?” said Callatas.
“She took it to Pyramid Isle in pursuit of us,” said Kalgri, “and she took it to Pyramid Isle the first time. I saw it in Rumarah, and again from the beach, while Kharnaces was controlling you…”
“Whose ship?” said Callatas, his voice rising to a shout.
“Caina Amalas,” snarled Kalgri. For once, there was no hint of her usual mockery. “She hired that ship to take her to Pyramid Isle.”
Fury exploded through Callatas. “It is impossible. She could not have escaped Pyramid Isle! She…”
BEHOLD. THE BALARIGAR COMES.
The voice chilled Callatas like a splash of icy water across the face.
Ghost in the Winds (Ghost Exile #9) Page 26
